


Our Lady, Revealed

by UrdnotChicken



Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Mind Control, Obsession, Occult, Other, Poor Life Choices, Regret, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10091111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrdnotChicken/pseuds/UrdnotChicken
Summary: Nasifa Ashaad crouched low behind the nearby crates, trying and failing to control her rapid breath and chattering teeth, clamping her eyes shut as tears trailed down her rune streaked face. The street was preternaturally quiet, and then she found herself in the powerful grip of cold, ornately manicured hands and staring directly into the fierce ruby eyes of the vampire. He didn't seem particularly angry, nor did he even seem annoyed. No, if anything, he seemed deeply amused."Curious little maidens shouldn't be without an escort in Mechitar after dark. There are monsters all about."She realized two things in that moment. First was that she had been lifted nearly a foot off the ground, her feet swaying slightly in the air and brushing against the vampire's well tailored pants. Once she stopped her trembling legs, she forced herself to recognize her second important lesson since coming to Mechitar, and if she didn't fully believe it then, she'd certainly believe it by the end of her stay: Nasifa Ashaad should never have left the desert.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a backstory for my current character in the Pathfinder setting. Admittedly I went fast and loose with a few things lore-wise especially in regards to Mechitar, but some things in Golarion are pretty vague to begin with, while others I do not own/ couldn't find content for. Anyways, enjoy. I didn't create the cities, but the NPCs are mine.

 

Her chest heaved against the stolen, stained and shredded robes of Urgathoa's faithful gluttons, and try as she might, Nasifa Ashaad couldn't still her rapid heart or frantic mind. Icy rain cut through the rapidly darkening sky in thick sheets, and she was no closer to finishing her search of the city center with its black pyramids and flickering blue flames than she had been before entering the feasting hall. To top it all off, she was pretty sure she'd eaten half her weight in meats and all manner of other succulent fare, and only through the blessings of whatever good gods were left in the world did she manage to escape that great, wicked feasting hall unnoticed and in time to retch in the nearest alley.  The smell of the undead that were beginning to stir and shamble from the shadows was enough to urge her stomach to heave once more but she forced herself to calm and draw slow, even puffs of air through her nose as she assessed the situation. She'd made it through two days in this fuckhole of a city without becoming ensorcelled, zombified, or devoured, but she'd also seen far too much of the undead. The sooner she was finished with Mechitar, the better.  

It was hours later, after visiting her shared inn room, ditching the robes and donning the darkest garments she possessed, that Nasifa ventured upon calamity. From a none-too-secure little hiding spot, Nasifa watched a vampire kill a half-elf in the middle of the street, snapping his limbs like twigs and mangling  his neck until it resembled ground meat, and the elfling had done nothing other than stand pliant as a doll in the vampire's arms, glassy eyed and seemingly euphoric just before his candle was extinguished. All this in the street, in plain view of any who happened past, and there were several who did. As the pitifully broken body plopped to the ground with a sickening thud, Nasifa curled up behind the crates she'd been using for cover, a hand clasped over her trembling mouth to stifle whatever sounds could have escaped. Her vision had been clouding, eyes filling with pitying tears that she dared not blink away as the deed had been happening, but finally she could stand it no longer, clamping her eyes shut as tears trailed down her rune streaked face. The street was preternaturally quiet, and then she found herself in the powerful grip of cold, ornately manicured hands and staring directly into the fierce ruby eyes of the vampire. He didn't seem particularly angry, nor did he even seem annoyed. No, if anything, he seemed deeply amused. 

"Curious little maidens shouldn't be without an escort in Mechitar after dark. There are monsters all about." 

She realized two things in that moment. First was that she had been lifted nearly a foot off the ground, her feet swaying slightly in the air and brushing against the vampire's well tailored pants. Once she stopped her trembling legs, she forced herself to recognize her second important lesson since coming to Mechitar, and if she didn't fully believe it then, she'd certainly believe it by the end of her stay: Nasifa Ashaad should never have left the desert. 

 

No one ever thought to speak of it, but being magically dominated hurt. Why did that never come up? It should have been the second thing that people talked about. The list would start off with,  _ You have no control over what you do, _ and the the second would be,  _ if you are trying to resist and cannot, you are in for a world of searing mental pain.  _ But then, how can a person not resist when told to do the abhorrent? 

The vampire's name was Leoven Cir, a blonde elf from parts unknown before his transformation. In his current state he was a nobleman of some repute, or at least rich enough to get away with whatever devilry fit his mood. Said devilry at the time mostly comprised of forcing Nasifa to follow him as he made the rounds, chatting up his friends and acquaintances before entering dimly lit dens of iniquity to watch lovely, drunken creatures dance while consuming Pesh and Shiver and whatever other hallucinogens he could get his undead hands on. All things considered, it wasn't terrible. At least she hadn't been snapped like a twiggy half-elf and left in the street. His only order had been to stay at his side, and then to drink when a drink had been given to her, so she sat, slightly swaying and buzzing with intoxication, the lights in the room shimmering more than they had when first they'd arrived, but she'd tried pesh before and knew that to be the culprit.

"What your name, little Sylph? You're a long way from home, aren't you? I'd have notice a naive little thing like you before now." She hated the way he talked to her, commenting on her size, talking to her as if she were a child, but then he was undead, and though he looked young the way elfs always did, he could have been many hundreds of years old.

"Nasifa Ashaad." she slurred, her face aching as she forced it to move, "I'm from Duwwor, in Thuvia." Duwwor. She missed Duwwor. She wished she could go back, return to her family home, even if it was empty now. Fuck her for being what she was. People always talk about longevity as if it were something to be envious of, and indeed, her neighbors throughout the years always looked at her with jealousy in their gaze. Would they feel that way if they were sitting here, staring across the way at a red-eyed demon of an elf, full of drugs and youth and knowing that if the vampire wanted, he could keep them as a living doll until he decided exsanguination was the better route? 

No. No, they wouldn't. 

"Come now, Nasifa. You're much prettier with a smile on your sweet face. And no more tears." Immediately she smiled, genuine and warm and all encompassing, the kind of smile that welcomes people into a room and meets her eyes and all that trite shit that can be said of them. Had she been crying? She hadn't noticed, but then, why not? Cold fingers wiped at her face and toyed with her hair, treating her for all the world like a fucking doll, and she just sat smiling and docile and silently horrified with it all. 

The night went on like that, Leoven Cir with his head in her welcoming lap, commanding her to sing songs and laugh and twine her fingers in his ashen hair like he was some charming young lover of hers. The thought of ever leaving the hazy drug den concerned her, so while she sang songs in Auran, Elven, Common, Sylvan, Gnomish, Orcish and Draconic, she thought of home, longed for it like a primal need for water in the desert, losing herself in memory even when her throat grew too raw to make sounds and they inevitably rose from their nest and made their way through the cool, misty streets.

The abode of Leoven Cir was vast, expensive, and mostly subterranean. From the street it looked like a two-story stone structure, well maintained by various denizens either in his employ or under his enthrall, though she suspected the former. Through labyrinthine corridors and lavish and varied chambers they went, Leoven touching whatever items caught his eye as he passed. The vampire seemed possessed of similar characteristics as a magpie, constantly drawn to that which glittered and shimmered, that which was beautiful or odd or unique. It was Nasifa's utter rarity that had elevated her from second breakfast to delicately handled oddity, after all. 

On and on and on they went until finally arriving in what could only be the vampire's personal quarters, most certainly far below the streets if the otherworldly sense of quiet and lack of a breeze were any indication. Not to mention the many flights of stairs that had left her still-smiling face glistening with sweat, her heart pounding out a staccato beat against her ribs. Panic gripped her as they entered the ornately decorated suite, Leoven tossing his overcoat carelessly onto a plush settee as he wandered around what had to be familiar territory with undying glee. That terror increased tenfold once she was commanded to disrobe, standing in the cold in nothing but her smallclothes as the vampire stared in fascination at the swirling, subtly changing runes on her skin, tracing them with his unnaturally chilled fingertips.

"Are you afraid, little Sylph?" Leoven asked, eyes on her face, pupils sill blown wide. "Come now, you can relax, but answer me." Her shoulders slumped and her face immediately sagged into what would have been a sob had she been allowed to weep.

"I'm terrified." she answered, "I've never been more afraid in my life." His nobleman's fingers slid up her arm, tracing a rune with fascination before smiling as if he were privy to some great joke.

"That's no fun at all, my dear. Have I harmed you in any way? No! It would be a crime, a sacrilege to mar something so lovely and rare. Now," he rose from his perch and took her trembling hands in his, faces uncomfortably close. "Time for bed." 

So the first night passed, discomfiting and silent, with the foppish, drugged vampire using Nasifa Ashaad as a glorified body pillow while he slept. And she, stiff as a board and afraid to close her eyes, afraid of what might happen but thankful she was still just glorified furniture for this man, trying to think of anything else, any way out, but there was no escape from this. 

_ She dreamed of Duwwor that night. She dreamed home, of her family. It was a blessed reprieve seeing their faces. She'd been the first born of their children, her two siblings dying in infancy. Father had passed away years later, succumbing finally to the heat of the desert while in the throes of sickness. She'd stayed with Mother for the rest of her life, taking care of her on their little farm, helping to raise whatever crops and livestock could thrive there, going out and hunting for sun orchids when time allowed. They had a good life together, and she tried to make sure her mother had been happy. Never mind that her own happiness was tied to the wanderlust that wouldn't quiet itself. She contented herself with the fact that her mother was happy.  _

_ Then mother died. Father had been cremated years before, so Nasifa requested the local Druids do the same with her. Mother's only request had been that after she died, she be returned to the place where she and father had met, to Lamasara by the Junira river. So Nasifa packed up the old house on the cliffs, sold everything she owned, and booked passage with the next caravan to Lamasara.  _

_ It had been no trouble at all, spreading her parents ashes at the Junira river. It was sad, of course, but she had come to terms with the fact that she'd outlive every human she knew years ago, so she wandered the dry, colorful city streets, wrapped head to toe in a light cloak that hid her outlandishness well. The city was hot, this compounded by the cloak, and vaguely familiar only because she'd been here as a child. Music drifted constantly through the air in this city of art and culture, and a sweet smell seemed always to linger. Artisans sold sundries she'd never before beheld, while bards and tumblers and all manner of performers did feats of acrobatics and illusion she had never before imagined. She enjoyed it, an existential moment where life was good despite it all. Then, someone slammed into her back, pickpocketed her, and changed her life forever. Frankly, they were the cause of all her ills thereafter.  _

_ Asaan _ .

Leoven Cir was the oddest vampire she had ever heard of. Immediately upon waking, he commanded her to rise and dress in some whorish frippery he possessed, a blue linen concoction that matched the swirling runes of her skin. He twisted and twirled her hair himself, pinning it until it was to his satisfaction and then, oddest of all, casting a spell on her throat, sending healing energy coursing through her. Nasifa knew precious little if Mechitar, much to her chagrin, but she knew without a doubt that people channeling positive energy weren't welcome there. Why a vampire would waste his time learning the skills of a cleric she didn't know, and despite the trauma of being a prisoner in her own head, part of her was dying to ask the question. Instead Leoven immediately started teaching her to bow, to be properly flamboyant in her mannerisms. He ordered her over and over, watching obsessively as she bowed until her back ached, finally seeming satisfied with her progress and commanding her to sing as he dressed for the night. 

She thought perhaps that the second night would be more tolerable, because she knew that there was no fighting mind control. He was much too powerful, so she'd been trying to resign herself to that fact. She thought wrong. 

The city of Mechitar was filled to the gills with chattel, a perfectly horrible name for a perfectly horrible system. They were marked for death, as evidenced by an arcane mark. This was what had happened to the half-elf of the previous night, it was why he wandered willingly into the arms of death incarnate. Leoven provided this information to her quite jovially as they walked the city streets, pointing out prospective dinner as casually as one might notice new daffodils blossoming in the springtime. So when they stopped in front of a young woman, a mark emblazoned on her cheek, Nasifa wanted nothing more than to run the other way. Leoven was having none of that, however, commanding her to follow, to watch, to touch the girl in his arms as he snuffed the life out of her. So Nasifa did, her eyes glued to the doomed human's euphoric face, shifting to the place where the vampire fed, to the human's fingers clenching at his cloak and then eventually relaxing forever. She felt this criminal's life drain from her skin, felt vitality that was so hot in her slip out, turn cold, soft flesh turning gradually firmer with the chill. The lights went out forever in her eyes, just as they had in the half-elf's the night previous. Searing life blood flowed from her open wounds, flowing onto the Sylph’s pale fingers, slicking her hand, congealing under her nails, and all she could do was keep her eyes locked on the spectacle, her terrible little smile still in place as inside she wailed.

The victim fell like a sack of potatoes against the pavers, and then the vampire looked at her, lips smeared in blood and upturned as he asked her something she failed to understand. It was in that moment that Nasifa’s knees gave way, fear and anxiety winning out as she collapsed in the street, the last thing she saw being the dead woman staring blankly in her direction before she mercifully fainted. 

_ She knew Asaan to be a bastard as soon as he’d pickpocketed her. He wasn’t just good at it, he was also perilously FAST. Luckily, so was she, and she benefited from carrying very little and being quite petite, so she chased him through the Lamasaran streets, weaving in and out of the sweaty crowds, dodging carts and whatever stray things were hurled her way by the thief, struggling to keep pace only because she didn’t know the city. Then, quite abruptly, her arm was seized in an iron grip, and she turned to see a mountain of a man, a city guard, staring at her with brow raised.  _

_ She tried to explain herself, but she was seen as trouble from the start and so had to leave. Luck was on her side, however, as she watched the pickpocket waltz out of the city beside a caravan on its way to Sothis via Totra. She might have just confronted the thief outright, or perhaps, considering the fact that he was armed with what looked to be two very finely made daggers and she was barehanded, she might have let it go altogether. She might have done either of those things if not for the fact that she finally had a good look at him, at his skin, at his face. White hair, pale skin littered with runes, bright blue eyes. She was staring at another Sylph, a rarity like herself only bold as brass where she was hiding under beige linens like a coward, and perhaps she wasn’t the bravest of people, but at least she wasn’t pickpocketing defenseless women in the market.  _

_ So she began what every young woman did when they went out into the world. She started stalking him. Oh, it wasn’t a romantic stalk, nothing of the sort. It was a kind of burning, intense curiosity mingled with a serious fear of actually meeting face to face. She followed at a healthy distance, expertly hiding at lofty heights and odd or otherwise cramped spaces, all the way from Lamasara, through Totra, and then into Sothis.  _

_ By the time she’d glutted herself on Sylph Stalking, Nasifa was certain that this had to be the worst man she’d ever encountered. What kind of person would prey on the weak, the defenseless, the helpless or naive? She watched him glide through markets with ease, slipping a hand into various purses and pulling out copper and gold and platinum. In the evening she saw him cheat at cards, saw him lie and sweet talk his way into free food and rooms, and even complimentary baths, all followed by the scoundrel stealing the towels and soap and anything in the room that wasn’t nailed down. He was disgustingly flamboyant, exaggerating his every act of faux gallantry while robbing unsuspecting idiots blind. The very worst thing she witnessed had to have been when he dressed up as a priest of Pharasma, one of that went out and collected alms for funding funerals. He tied a cloth around his eyes to add to the pity, and then shuffled around the streets, asking for coin with absolutely convincing conviction. He stood and told stories of a plague that was ravaging the Crimson Island, a district that actually was currently quarantined in the city for reasons unknown to the people. Citizens gathered all around, listening in horror and sorrow, hanging onto his every lying word as he provoked all of them into emptying their pockets for the “bodies stacked ten feet high”, because only savages denied the dead proper funeral rites. In the end, he had far more than could fill a simple bowl, instead having to remove a satchel from under his robes in which to stow the coin. She tried counting, but once it was over 300 gold, Nasifa stopped in disgust and just turned away and continued raking coin into the satchel.  _

_ Asaan had to be the worst person she had ever witnessed, so it horrified her when they met again, this time nose to nose in a tavern far seedier than one he dare ever frequent, with a smile on his most certainly wicked face. _

 

Nasifa woke nose to nose with the most assuredly wicked face of Leoven Cir, who wore an indulgent smile. They were in his home once more, in his bed once more. Without a word he rose, silently commanding she follow, that she help him bathe and dress. He was quiet. He didn’t ask her to sing. He only told her to follow him to the streets.

A different neighborhood, but the same idea as before. He pointed instead of talking, suggesting without a word the victims he would like. Elf, human, half-orc, halfling, cycling through his choices until finally he held up his hands in frustration and sighed. He took her hands in his and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I can’t decide.” Leoven Cir leaned close, murmured conspiratorially to her, “I’ll let you pick.” She peered askance at him, clearly confused. “What? Go on, speak your mind.”

“I-I can’t do that!” she cried in outrage. 

“Why not? I’m sure you have excellent taste. If not, well, I’ll give you some advice right now. Humans, while not always the best vintage, are always reliable. Now go on, you’ll do fine.” That manic grin had returned as he watched her panic. 

“No! I can’t just pick someone for you to kill.”

“You can, my dear, and you will, or I will choose three in your stead. Go choose one for me. They are all marked for death anyways. They’re nice and docile; they won’t hurt you.” That last part was at least true enough. The shambling chattel were the most relaxed living things she’d ever seen, smiling at anyone who walked up to them, allowing themselves to be ushered along for whatever nefarious things their host had planned. 

So Nasifa found herself prowling for Leoven’s next meal. At this point she wasn’t even sure if it was a command or not. It felt like something she couldn’t disobey, if not due to its words, then indeed due to the underlying threat. She’d not cause the death of more people. Perhaps if she was quick about it, Leoven would allow her to look away.

Yet when she returned, hand-in-hand with a mindless shell of a woman much taller than herself, a woman who indeed followed along as docile and easy as you please, Leoven forced her into much the same situation as before. So she watched on the third night, eyes burning with tears not allowed to fall, fingers stained with the nameless criminal’s blood, taking in the changes of the euphoric victim’s face, of the vampire’s complexion, of her own broken heart and shattered will and rattled mind. Why? Why? Why? That’s all she could think, all she could hear. She wanted oblivion. She wanted death. For one wild moment she thought she should have offered herself, but that was a fucking lie if she’d ever heard it. She wanted out of there, not to dwell eternally as an undead slave in Geb. It was in that moment that she realized a fundamental truth, only revealed by heartbreak and desperation. If she’d been given a choice, she’d usher people to their death for as long as it took, if it meant her freedom from this wretched city.

For two weeks the vampire did this, forced her to choose a victim, forced her to watch, to participate. His jovial nature slipped away like a mask at the end of the ball, and she thought perhaps he became more and more what he truly was. He treated her like an experiment, seeing how far he could push her, how often he could force the distasteful before the disgust became too visible, before her knees buckled and the darkness took her. The only solace was the daylight, invisible to them but at least she could sleep and dream, could escape what had become her mental prison. Hope of escape dwindled, and she thought perhaps she could stop eating in hopes of starving to death, but no sooner had she thought it than Leoven Cir commanded her compliance in that as well. Apparently she couldn’t even die without permission. The vampire smiled.

He could hear her thoughts. Well, shit.

“You didn’t just figure that out did you, my darling?” His hands, always present, always touching in some form of possession, lingered on the swirling runes that marked her race. She had considered that perhaps when he found what he liked best, he’d kill her and keep that bit of skin for himself. Knowing that he knew about those traitorous little thoughts made it so much worse. “I’ve forced you to sing and dance, act as my servant, choose my meals, witness their deaths. I could insist that you do far worse, and you are surprised that your mind is not your own?” She shook her head lamely in response, and it seemed the vampire had finally lost his patience with her, commanding with a sigh that she sit still, that she look him in the eyes, as if there were anywhere else in all of Golarion she could venture a glance.

A gesture and phrase she didn’t understand, and then her makeshift master demanded that for which he’d been patiently waiting. Why was she here? How had she arrived on the empty streets of Mechitar, face to face with him? She panicked, chest heaving, head spinning, but she had no option but to comply, peeling back the pages of her memories as she was bombarded with spell after spell. 

_ Asaan had started immediately to ingratiate himself to her once the two of them had met. After all, how often did a Sylph meet another of their kind? He apologized for his behavior with zealous enthusiasm, gave her the purse he had stolen plus a substantial amount extra, then he launched directly into the reason for his thieving lifestyle with tear-jerking sincerity. He was trying to raise funds to buy back a friend that had been sold into slavery when their debts had become too much to bear. Asaan himself had tried to smuggle the friend, a human man named Viseran Hall, out of the Inner Sea, far away to a place not so beset by slavers. They’d made a pretty good run of it, too, but their ship had been overtaken by a Ketapeshi frigate with yellow sails. Asaan had escaped, but Viseran was taken for his bounty, because if there was one thing that the Ketapesh knew, it was the debts of a potential slave. _

_ So Asaan went as far away as he could, going from city to city, swindling whomever could afford to lose their coin in his very best attempt to save his friend. He had no illusions  of being a good man, as evidenced by his willingness to impersonate a member of the clergy, but he was a damn good friend. He’d been working non-stop for three months to gather the funds, amassing well over 500 platinum pieces, totaling far more than the value of a slave, and supposedly more than the price of Viseran’s debts, but the man, a bard of some renown, had a bit of a gambling problem, so it was hard to say with certainty.  _

_ Nasifa didn’t want to believe him, but after a few pints and a few more stories, she did believe him wholeheartedly, going so far as to offer what meager assistance she could. They shook hands, an agreement struck, a tentative friendship forged.  _

_ The next memory was when they arrived in Ketapesh. The city was huge, mildly disgusting, and stank of a sickly sweet, curdled cacti nectar called pesh. Asaan had taught her what he could on the way, a two week journey from Sothis, honing her natural talent for moving silently, gifting her with the skills of a rogue so that by the time they entered the ancient city gates, she was picking pockets with grace. _

_ The slave markets were huge and horrible, the worst of humanity whipping the unfortunate and disadvantaged. In the end it was a fruitless venture. Viseran had been sold privately by the ship’s captain for a considerable sum, something they found out later when she and Asaan slipped into his room and pilfered through his possessions, stealing the ledgers, gemstones, coins, weapons, and whatever else their sticky fingers managed to rifle through. This all seemed good for Nasifa, who scoured through the business ledger long after Asaan had pushed it aside in disgust, until she found the last line of the page, dated one week prior to their arrival.  _

_ Viseran Hall: Bard; human; male; clean; healthy. Sold to Cres Maylen, Vassal to the Blood Lords of Mechitar. Sum of 7000 gold.  _

_ Next, they were entering Mechitar after two weeks of travel from Quantium, two weeks without sleep in a land of undeath. They both bore the mark of their toils, dark circles under their eyes, nerves frayed, and the both of them so desperate for safe sleep and a bath that they took the first inn they came across, no matter that the price was horribly inflated, the place much too posh for the two of them, and the innkeeper was the oiliest individual she’d ever met.  _

_ Once bathed and rested and fed, the two of them started prowling the city for information, though separately. As much as Nasifa had grown fond of Asaan, she couldn’t say she minded. Lack of sleep and close quarters made for some nasty conversations at times, so Nasifa was just fine navigating the largest, cleanest, blackest city she’d ever visited on her own. Black Orisinian pyramids rose all around, the standard architecture of the old town, opening up to the great temple to Urgathoa. People were milling in and out of there, wrapped in black robes which were shredded at the bottom, covered in food and wine and looking satiated to the point of nausea.  _

_ Asaan didn’t return the first night, nor the second. The innkeeper hadn’t seen him. Something was wrong, and she didn’t know anyone in this place, so she kept to the plan, search in the daytime, stay in at night. Well, she thought she’d keep to the plan, but the idea of the rogue being eaten by zombies or ghouls or vampires or whatever other shit happened upon him had her worried.  _

_ Then she saw Leoven Cir, beautiful and terrifying as he drained life from his victim and snapped them in half. She saw one of the astounding and absurdly glorious monsters that ruled the city, something she’d been avoiding, and it had been too much. She was just a girl from a farm in Duwwor. She wasn’t supposed to be here. More importantly, she was alone in Mechitar after dark when the monsters were all about. _

Nasifa blinked as the barrage of spells came to end, fighting back a wave of nausea as her vision returned. In front of her was Leoven, and he looked like he felt a little sorry for her. Somehow, that was worse.

“Poor little bird.” he said, stroking her hair as one would pet a favored animal, “That was something. It’s impressive you came all this way, what with this astonishing naivety you possess. Some young man owns  an ounce of charm, and you just believe anything he says?” He sighed like what he was about to complete some terrible chore, pulling the limp girl closer, nose and lips against her neck, “You’re lucky I found you.” 

Vampire bites are curious things. Part of her mind was screaming, utterly mortified, and physically it was tremendously painful, although no one ever seems pained. No, the face one makes is always euphoric. That’s because underneath it all is a dreadful, traitorous little voice that hopes it doesn’t stop. It cheers the monster on, wants to see what happens, wants to die in preternatural arms. That voice grew louder and louder the longer Leoven fed, a drumbeat of terrible and familiar syncopation that crescendoed and grew more and more until finally-

Leoven pushed her away with a groan, sending the Sylph toppling over, light headed and weak but very much alive. Blood trickled down her neck, over her chest, itchy and sticky until finally he allowed her to clean up. So she rose shakily and washed away the blood, taking a moment to wash the beads of sweat from her brow. Her face, always pale, was deathly, her throat much the same except where she’d been bitten, though perhaps that was a tame word for the gruesome gnawing to which he’d subjected her flesh, several distinct marks on the left side of her neck that would most definitely scar. 

He didn’t heal them, saying she needed proof, something she didn’t understand, but he did stop the bleeding before insisting she change clothes and follow him up to the streets. They didn’t go hunting, instead walking in the direction of the city center and the great pyramids. Going straight towards a large estate that she’d passed before but never inquired about, entering in through the front door as though he owned the place before allowing himself to be escorted through the grand halls. 

Seated in a dark, airy throne room was a woman, dark skinned with pointed ears, of obvious elven heritage, though she possessed obvious vampiric qualities as well. There were several guards and servants in the fore, all minor undead. In fact, there was only one other living person in that room, and he was kneeling, head bowed though she recognized him readily enough.

Asaan.

“Leoven Cir! To what do I owe the pleasure?” the enthroned woman spoke with cold eloquence. The vampire bowed, barely more than a stiff nod, before launching straight past the niceties. 

“Trade, Cres. I’m here for trade.” He removed a small purse from his coat and held it up. “For the bard and the sylph, I’ll give you this.” Cres didn’t seem impressed, but she did look curious. 

“What in the bag?” Leoven tossed it up to the dais, and when she peered inside, she seemed perplexed for a moment, but eventually she sighed, recognition washing over her. “7,000. Fine. The bard you may take. He wasn’t for me anyways. The sylph...well, you already have one. I don’t see why we can’t trade them out. This one has served me well enough.” Asaan looked up in surprise and just a bit of outrage, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

The two of them haggled for a long time, swapping from Elven into what Nasifa suspected was Undercommon. They argued and gesticulated, and more than once the household guards reached for their weapons, but eventually they struck up an accord of some sort, because Leoven left with all three of the living in tow and a smile on his face.

The bard Viseran Hall was deposited in some chamber that Nasifa had never seen before, but she and Asaan were kept together, walking with the Leoven who kept a leisurely pace. It was the same way he moved the first night, dreamy and intoxicated. It set her teeth on edge. 

The doors closed behind them, the servants were dismissed, and Leoven muttered some phrase she couldn’t understand, a strange feeling coming over her. Apparently Asaan felt it as well, and he must have understood the severity of the circumstance, because he immediately paled and tried in vain to control his panic. His eyes were locked on Leoven, but it wasn’t the fear of the undead that she saw on his face. It was plain old recognition. They had met before. They all sat, Asaan much less at ease, perhaps because it was of his own accord. 

“Now, we’re going to sit and have a nice chat.” Leoven said, looking for all the world like the cat that ate the canary. All of a sudden Nasifa felt her mental bonds loosen and fall away. She flexed her arms and toes and twisted around, moving every way she could just because she  _ could _ , because she’d been a marionette for far too long. “Get it all out in the open as it were.” She wasn’t paying attention, couldn’t be bothered. She was looking at Asaan, for the first time really seeing him since their separation. 

Other than an overwhelming look of discomfort, he was completely fine. Unharmed.

Why was he unharmed?

“A very good question. Why are you unharmed, Asaan?” the vampire asked, “Cres isn’t known for her gentility. She didn’t even try you! What did you promise her?” Her fellow sylph was taken aback by the question, but before he could answer, the vampire turned to Nasifa and cast another series of spells, returning the favor memory for memory. 

_ Through Leoven’s eyes she watched the bard Viseran Hall performing at the home of Cres Maylen. The female vampire was celebrating her new purchase with a lavish party, complete with jugglers, fire-eaters, dancers, and the like. It was unfortunate that his performance didn’t match the hype, but the rest of the revelers didn’t seem to care. In the midst of it all sat Asaan, chatting smoothly with Cres, attempting with every breath to charm and sway her opinion on a matter of some import. He hadn’t paid close attention to the exchange at first, but it was obvious that Cres’s interest had been peaked.  _

_ “She’s naive and innocent. Not stupid, mind you, but come on, the poor girl followed me all the way here from Thuvia for a smile and a sob story. I’ve kept her untouched. Unscarred, Unscathed. Kept her in mint condition for your collection. And she sings with a voice of pure, ethereal clarity. Not to mention her own beauty and racial rarity.” Asaan rolled up his shirt sleeves, clothes of much finer make than anything she’d seen him wear before, and exposed his skin. He traced a hand over blue runes and looked at Cres invitingly. “Everywhere, but on a youthful body that would be yours to mark and mar at your leisure. And for a sylph, ‘leisure’ could imply so very long indeed. She was practically born for you.” The vampiress touched admiringly, smiled appreciatively. _

_ “And what do you want in exchange for so precious a gift?” _

_ “Your failing bardic slave, Viseran Hall.” Asaan said with ease. Cres scoffed, but the sylph was undeterred, “Think about it. He’s not very handsome, he’s not resilient. He’s not even putting on a good show. He is my friend, but the truth is the truth. The people here are only so pleased because they’re full of ice wine and basking in your hospitality. The man is a human, and in a few years he will be past his prime. Five, ten more years, and your investment goes out the window. What I’m offering is hundreds of years of service from a lovely, nubile, naive little slave, versed in several languages, with a sweet soft voice, and flexible to boot? It seems an obvious choice.” Cres seemed more amused with each word he spoke, finally holding up a hand to silence him.  _

_ A voice appeared in Leoven’s (Nasifa’s[at this point it was all a blur]) head, the familiar tingle of the arcane as Cres Maylen started speaking. ‘ _ Care to make a wager?’ 

‘Perhaps. What sort of wager?’ 

‘I bet this idiot can trick his companion into coming here ready to play the sacrifice card within the month.’  _ Cres loved to watch this sort of thing play out, and Leoven couldn’t deny he was a touch interested. _

‘I doubt it, but fine. If I win, if she doesn’t show up voluntarily within the month, ready to play the sacrifice card, I want them both.”

‘Both?!’  _ He felt her consternation through the message. _

‘And your new bard.’  _ Not that Leoven needed it, but why not pile it on. _

‘No! That’s another bet entirely. Only winning that if you guess exactly what I paid for him, and you only get one chance. When I win, you owe me three time his price.’  _ At her core, Cres was a greedy creature, and she had always envied Leoven his coin. If she thought thrice the price of some sweaty, washed up bard would hurt his pocket, she was very wrong.  _

_ ‘ _ Fine.’

_ Cres turned back to Asaan, smiling broadly and extending an icy hand which he was quick to take and brush with a kiss.  _

_ “What’s my new chattel’s name, my friend?” _

_ “Nasifa Ashaad. You’ll be pleased.” _

  
  
  


Nasifa Ashaad looked up, head clearing of Leoven’s influence, and before she knew it, she was standing nose to nose with the most wicked person she had ever befriended. Asaan eyed her warily, but he was so much stronger than her to begin with that there was no real fire to his fear. 

“This is because of you?” her voice didn’t sound like hers anymore, but at least she knew who told her to speak the words. Her fists raised and struck his face, aching and burning the skin of her knuckles, but at least she gave the order. “You’ve made me a slave. You used me! You -you-” She couldn’t speak, didn’t want to give him the gift of her voice that he offered in trade. She wanted to tear out his eyes. She wanted to kill him with such savagery that she’d always remember this lesson, that Leoven Cir would remember it, that everyone in fucking Mechitar would hear about it and seem either taken aback or aroused, weird fucks that they were. She wanted to grow talons and rip the skin-

Why? Why this? Why now? 

She peered at Leoven who did a very convincing job of shrugging and simply watching, but she felt it, felt the irresistible pull of something magickal, only she had no real desire to resist if it meant she could tear him apart. Leoven Cir approached with solemnity and lifted her chin, asking a question that she would always remember, because she could never decide if it was the right or wrong answer.

“You’re certain?” 

“Absolutely.”

At this precise moment Asaan decided to push his luck, to try escape. It was an admirable try, he wasn’t bound after all, but he was swiftly subdued with barely more than a flick of a wrist before both sylphs were plunged into unconsciousness. 

The last time Nasifa awoke in the estate of Leoven Cir, it was in a chamber she had passed but never entered. She knew little of religion, but it had seemed a shrine of sorts at the time. A very large, flat slab of black marble with candles all about served as an altar, tapestries depicting ancient and bizarre cities and cemeteries and battles decorating the ebony walls, and to the left of the altar stood a large, slightly grotesque statue in white marble. It depicted a woman with dual appearances. Left side of her body, arms, legs, breasts, hips, face, all of it were shapely and beautiful and seductive in the most classical sense, but when peering at the right side, at the True side, one saw an emaciated, fanged woman with a great, outstretched batlike wing where her arm should be and a claw in place of a foot. An inscription lay at the base of the statue,  _ Our Lady Revealed _ . This was what she saw when first she opened her eyes, so she pushed herself to her feet quickly enough, searching injury and finding none, though she also found little in the way of clothes. In fact, upon closer examination, she’d have to admit her attire bore more than a passing resemblance to the statue, which wore little more than glorified smallclothes. 

People lined the chamber walls, though it took her a moment to notice. Many wore garments of red and black, holy symbols on their chests or elsewhere. Others looked to be noblemen. She saw Leoven Cir, wearing a mix of both, still looking for all the world like a foppish aristocrat, though perhaps one who dressed modestly on high holidays. His face bore a look of reverence she had never seen before, and she had seen a laundry list of expressions on that face. He was watching her. Everyone was watching either her or the altar, and when she noticed this she turned to look only to regret it.

Asaan, tied and naked, and in his eyes was fear. Real, tangible fear for her, and she didn’t understand until she started stalking towards the altar, candles flaming higher and brighter with every footstep. A side-altar bore various weapons and tools, many of which were either too grotesque or outlandish for her to consider. Two items she definitely recognized, a rapier and a dagger, so she lifted the larger of the two, ignoring the scarlet clad peeping toms in the room. She walked stony eyed to the altar, and for all the world it felt like her idea when she stabbed the rapier into his thigh, his stomach, his arm. 

It felt like her own wicked will when the blade pierced the soles of his feet, and as she watched the blood leak from his body and heard his weeping and begging for mercy, it seemed her own pleasure at his expense. She brought blade closer, wanted for the first time to watch the light leave someone’s eyes, for surely if someone in her life deserved to die it was him, he who would have made her a slave for her entire life, who attempted to steal her years for a gambling idiot of a bard past his prime. Then she glanced back at the dagger, obsidian and jagged and almost certainly used exclusively for such events,and she placed the honorific rapier of Zura aside, lifting the dagger with care and crawling onto the altar, nose to nose. She stared at him, taking in his pale eyes and outlandish looks, the same as hers, the only other person like her in all the world that she had ever met. She pressed her forehead to his, felt his pathetic little puffs of breath on her face, the trembling of his entire body as he repeated the same words over and over again. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. 

“Please. Please, you don’t want to do this.” He whimpered, sweat and blood leaking from him in equal measure as he thrashed and railed against his magical bonds in vain. She leaned close to his ear, words in Auran meant for him alone though the undead in the room were stone quiet, their preternatural sense capable of picking up every gasp and plea.

“More than my freedom. More than the breath in my lungs. More than anything in this fucking world, I want you dead. Goodbye Asaan.”

She raised up then and lifted her dagger, summoning any courage she possessed. She thought of his treachery, of his sweet lies and faux kindness in their travels, how it had all been artifice. She thought of this fuckhole of a city, of the chattel wandering aimlessly, waiting to be devoured and raised once again to serve Geb forevermore. All the trauma of her visit, choosing who lives and dies, being a slave and prisoner in her own mind, being fed upon, and none of it would have happened had she not come across this fucker. Rage boiled in her chest, spilling over until finally, mercifully, she brought the dagger down, stabbing him in the heart with joyous violence again and again, a nauseating beat of blade on flesh that splattered his blood all down the front of her, coating her skin in the reddest of paints. Asaan had nothing left to do but die, to watch as this demon of his own creation stabbed him, only to repeatedly lift her cupped hands to her mouth and drink his blood in a frenzy until he gave up the ghost. Mercy. 

The hall was silent for a long time. It could have been on fire for all that Nasifa cared as she sat astride the dead man, a corpse that had started to cool with blood loss in the chilly underground shrine. The taste of iron stayed strong on her tongue, but for the first time in weeks her mind felt deliciously blank. Cold hands clasped her bare shoulders in what she would later describe as comfort, and though she didn’t hear any words, she felt the pride Leoven held for her, for his petite savage. Scattered clapping began, what was first a trickle becoming raucous quickly, the inhabitants of the room easing closer, some with hands outstretched to touch her profaned flesh, some to bow in respect to the deity to the left, and some to simply congratulate Leoven for choosing the better of the two, for certainly the male wouldn’t have done as she had, wouldn’t have presented such a fit offering to the Demon Lord Zura. A few even had to wipe tears from their ruby eyes, claiming to feel the the appeasement of the goddess even then. It was all very auspicious for the followers of Zura, and then the audience filtered away, Cres Maylen leaving last with a look of approval on her dark face, though she seemed a bit put out as she looked at the corpse of Asaan. 

Nasifa paid no heed to the arms that lifted her from the altar, nor to the hands that washed the blood from her with deference. She didn’t notice the kind words of the servants, praising her deeds as worthy of honor, praising her fierce eyes and hungry nature. She didn’t even notice when they dressed her, wrapped her in sleeping garb as grand as their master’s and led her to bed, covering her with plush blankets and dousing every candle. Leoven came in hours later to take his rest, and she was still awake, staring at the lavish ceiling blankly. He didn’t say anything, only pressed a drink into her hands, suggesting that it would help her sleep. She sipped it automatically; it felt wrong at this point not to listen to every word he said. It was sweet and cool, an unintentional palette cleanser, but as she fell asleep, she could still taste iron. 

The next day found her in familiar yet surprising territory. Her inn room of a fortnight prior was just as she had left it. Her meager possessions were where she had stowed them. On the bedside table lay a note and a purse whose seams were tested by its load. Hesitantly she reached over, taking both in hand. 1000 gold. 1000 gold? The note was brief. 

_ For my Petite Savage. Use it in good health, and rest assured that the next time you are in Mechitar, you are welcome in my home without question and without reservation. For now, I’d suggest you make good on leaving; after all, the monsters come out after dark. That isn’t to say that my dead heart doesn’t ache to think of it. You’ll make a wonderful addition to the family one day, and you’ll come to understand exactly why we all behave the way we do in this world. You’re still frighteningly young, and it would be a shame to take away what youth remains to you here in this place. So go, and go with my blessing and my warmest regards. Finally, a word of advice. I’ve given you something that will most certainly protect you from anyone in Geb, at least any vampire of learning. The world is a dangerous place, my dear, and unless you want to end up like my new bard, you would do well to make yourself too big to shackle. Reputation is everything, or very nearly. I’ll be listening.  _

_ Eternally Yours, _

_ Leoven Cir _

_ Vassal of the Blood Lords of Mechitar _

  
  
  


_ Your Devoted Servant _

 

She sat the letter down, head spinning. A glance outside confirmed what she already knew, that night had fallen, and so she would need to wait inside and pray to whomever would listen that nothing foul would happen before she left the city. Slowly she swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching her sore limbs and moving towards the mirror with something akin to dread. What she found was encouraging. She hadn’t sprouted horns in her sleep, and she was dressed in clothes that were neither immodest nor outlandish. Everything about her seemed as it should have been prior to the whole affair save the twinge in her neck, and when she tilted her head to the side, she saw it. The evidence that she hadn’t imagined it. No. No, it was far worse than that. The wounds had healed marvelously fast, shiny, uneven scars in their place, and all around them like a brand were swirling Auran runes, very closely matching her own, in addition to some profane writ of which is could pick out just enough to know stated Leoven Cir, Vassal of Mechitar, to anyone that knew her language, as well as  what she suspected was Abyssal. In a moment of rash stupidity she tried rubbing at it, scratching at the new, tender scars and magickal markings, irritating the skin until it glowed red, finally turning away in disgust when a knock at the door sounded and the innkeep called.

“Food and drink for you, milady.” the man had called, and distractedly she opened the door without really looking, beckoning him inside and thanking him for his quick work. He looked at her neck for a moment, eyes widening like he’d only just noticed the words, and he bowed in deference before leaving. The food remained untouched. 

The next morning she fled to the harbor as fast as she could, booking fare on a ship bound for Niswan that very night. She barely left the port except to navigate the merchant’s quarters, buying whatever provisions she could think of, rations, extra clothes, a wineskin, and so on. She even tracked down a potion shop and purchased a few sedatives to help with sleep. She doubted she’d feel safe on the ship, no matter that she paid the captain extra for a private room and a door that locked. This was all made much worse by the fact that whenever her hair shifted out of the way, the merchants were all too aware of what was scrawled across her skin. They started tripping over themselves to help her, so she left the quarter is fast as possible. 

The rest of the day was spent in a tavern on the docks, dimly lit and full of uncaring and unlearned drunken sailors, and as soon as the sun set she made her way onto the ship. The blue flames adorning the pyramids had flared to life, illuminated the damned city of Mechitar, and Nasifa was comforted as she watched the flurry of activity from a safe perch on deck, though she couldn’t deny that she felt watched and exposed. Just before they weighed anchor, a call came from further down the pier for them to halt. A bosun called for the deck hands to break, and then strolling up the planks came the harbormaster. He was red-faced, flustered, but he quickly finished his errand which consisted of hurried words and a long, wrapped parcel. 

The ship finally eased from its slip, towed out to the open sea, and Nasifa had never been so happy to see a city fade in the distance. She thought she saw a flash of ashen hair and red eyes on the docks, but when she looked again, there was nothing, and as soon as the city was too far away to be seen, she went below to her cabin, locking the door behind her with a happy sigh before flouncing on her bunk, only to land on something painfully hard.

A long, wrapped parcel lay across the bunk, addressed to her by name, and though she wasn’t at all sure she wasn’t to see, she knew she’d have no peace until she did, so she ripped off the parchment and opened the carved wooden case, revealing a finely made rapier with rubies in the hilt. A note fluttered from the case, written in a now familiar and elegant scrawl.

_ For your health, my Savage. _


End file.
